


Blind

by menel



Series: The Blind Verse [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode Tag, Established Relationship, M/M, Soulless Sam Winchester, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-03
Updated: 2012-06-03
Packaged: 2017-11-06 17:13:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/421335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/menel/pseuds/menel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam had become the Terminator in every aspect of his life, and if that included the bedroom, then something was wrong, plain and simple.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blind

**Author's Note:**

> This story was originally published on my LiveJournal on November 16, 2010. It fulfilled the prompt "type: gentle" on my Kiss Bingo card. 
> 
> The fic contains blanket spoilers for Season 6 until episode 7, "Family Matters." Minor dub-con is depicted.

Banner made by [Loverstar](http://loverstar.livejournal.com)  
[](http://smg.photobucket.com/albums/v300/ciel_en_rouge/Supernatural%20Artwork/?action=view&current=Blind-Version2.png)

The first and only time Dean had ever walked in on Sam having sex, he wasn’t the least bit surprised. In fact, he probably should’ve been surprised at how un-surprised he was, but Dean simply took the scene in before heading to the bathroom and closing the door. The hooker had let out a little gasp at Dean’s intrusion (not the little gasps of pleasure that hookers are prone to do), but Sam hadn’t even broken his rhythm, grunting a quick, “It’s just my brother” and going about his business. They were both naked on Sam’s bed and Dean had noted the clean lines of his brother’s body, the sweat glistening on his skin, the smell of arousal heavy in the room. He’d also noted how methodical Sam was, how mechanical and flawless his technique. If Dean had been suspicious about his brother since Sam’s return, it was this quick scene of passionless copulation that confirmed for him that something was indeed off. Sam had become the Terminator in every aspect of his life, and if that included the bedroom, then something was wrong, plain and simple. That had been at the end of the first week back on the job.   
  
They weren’t having sex, but it wasn’t for lack of effort on Sam’s part. After their encounter with Balthazar and coming to grips with the idea that angelic weapons were now loose upon the earth (what else was new?), Sam had tried to get Dean into bed. He’d felt he’d waited long enough, was rather impressed that he hadn’t jumped his brother on the spot after killing the djinns that had managed to track Dean down for their revenge. Sam didn’t have inhibitions any more, but he did have pure rationality and rationality told him that he’d have to wait his brother out. And so he did. Now he was done waiting. He’d pushed Dean up against the door of their motel room as soon as they’d entered and kissed him. Clearly, he’d caught his brother off guard and in his surprise, Dean returned the kiss. Sam remembered how Dean enjoyed making out. His brother was good at it. But when Sam’s hands started moving lower, Dean stopped him before pushing him away.  
  
“Cut it out,” he said.  
  
Sam stood there, irritated and perplexed. “Why won’t you have sex with me?”  
  
Dean’s expression had grown hard, his jaw set. He wasn’t going to answer that question.  
  
“Is it because you don’t want to have sex?” Sam persisted in that curiously clinical voice. “Or is it because you don’t want to have sex with **me**?”   
  
Dean gritted his teeth. “Both,” he said at last before moving past his brother.  
  
Sam remained standing, facing the motel door and thought about it. It was the first time in their lives that Dean had ever refused him so blatantly and yet he didn’t feel the sting of rejection. He still wanted Dean. This wasn’t a question of **if** he’d have his brother, but **when** because these days Sam always got what he wanted. This was just another problem and Sam was a problem-solver.  
  
In the meantime, he turned to hookers. Sam had used hookers regularly the year he had been separated from Dean, and he had no problem using them again. Hookers were convenient. They were un-clingy and uncomplicated. They didn’t expect anything beyond a single night. Well, maybe a return call but Sam never went back to the same girl. Dean, on the other hand, was the antithesis of all these hookers and better in bed than all of them combined. Sam welcomed the challenge ahead.  
  
After the one time Dean had walked in on him with one of his ‘girls,’ Sam had stopped using their motel room for his trysts. He wasn’t trying to hide the hookers from his brother. Dean knew **exactly** what he was doing. This was Sam’s calculated act of consideration. If he wanted to get his brother into bed, flaunting all his hookers was not the best way to go about it. Dean hardly ever used hookers himself. It had always been too easy for him to just pick up some random chick in some random bar. Women were naturally drawn to him. Sam hadn’t always possessed nor cultivated that magnetic appeal, but things changed. He could easily get women now too, but hookers were still the quickest option. Plus, they were willing to experiment and Sam liked trying new things.  
  
Sam often came in late at night, after his brother had gone to bed. It was strange to think that Dean went to bed early now, but perhaps that’s what being a family man did to you. Not that Dean actually went to bed early, Sam just came in very late. He would sit on his single bed facing his brother, eyes trained on Dean’s sleeping form as he undressed in the dark. He couldn’t be bothered to wash the smell of sex off of him before getting into bed. There wasn’t any point. He didn’t sleep anymore, he just went through the motions of it. Most of the time he would lie in bed and stare at the ceiling, fantasizing about all the things he wanted to do to his brother, about all the things he wanted Dean to do to him. It always led to the same outcome and Sam would get up before dawn to work off his arousal with push-ups or pull-ups or whatever type of training he could get done in their motel room. Then he’d have a cold shower before Dean got up.  
  
Dean was rarely asleep when Sam came in, but it was easy enough to pretend. He would remain perfectly still, his breathing mirroring the evenness of deep sleep. He could sense when Sam stood over him, feel his brother’s eyes boring a hole into his back, smell the stale scent of sex on him. It creeped Dean out, even as it tore him up inside. He wouldn’t put out for Sam and so his brother had to go elsewhere. But the thought of touching Sam made his skin crawl. Sam wasn’t Sam. He knew it in his heart.  
  
Eventually, he knew it for certain. Something had to be said for the Goddess of Truth, even if she was a flesh-eating, pagan monster. Then Cas had come and performed his diagnosis and that was that. The reveals had come fast and furious afterwards, and Dean barely had the time to process it all. More betrayal, more blackmail, more fucked up family (it seemed his Campbell side was just as twisted as the Winchester one), and at the center of it all was Sam. Always Sam. **His** Sammy, whose soul was being held for ransom by the King of Hell. Demons. They boned his brother every time.  
  
It gave Dean a headache, which is why he was taken by surprise **again** when Sam slipped a chair behind him, sat down and began massaging his shoulders. Dean stiffened immediately, the hand that held his whiskey glass involuntarily gripping the glass more tightly. He brought the glass to his lips and downed the liquid in one go. He could do this. Sam wasn’t actually touching him. His brother was massaging his shoulders through the cloth of his shirt. **Two** shirts. There was nothing sexual about it. It was meant to be soothing, relaxing even. That’s what Dean told himself as the two of them sat at the table of their motel-room-of-the-week and Dean poured himself another glass of whiskey. The problem was Dean didn’t believe it for a minute.   
  
“Drink?” he asked reflexively.  
  
“I’m good,” Sam replied. “You’re so tense.”  
  
“You think?”  
  
Dean couldn’t keep the derision out of his voice. The hands stopped working on his shoulders. Instead, he felt Sam rest his chin on his left shoulder and it took all of Dean’s willpower not to flinch or move away.  
  
“You’re with me on this, right Dean?” Sam asked quietly.  
  
“’Course.” The response was automatic but hollow.  
  
Sam sat back. “Look at me.”  
  
That was the last thing Dean wanted to do but he shifted in his seat, turning sideways so he could see his brother. He arched an eyebrow.  
  
Sam leaned forward. “Now that we know what’s wrong with me,” he said. “Can’t we just . . . pretend?”   
  
“Pretend what exactly?”  
  
“Pretend . . .” Sam paused. Directness was usually the best tactic with his brother. “I want you.”  
  
“Really?” Dean sounded vaguely amused. He finished his drink and put the glass down. “I don’t think you know what that means,” he said, looking at his brother. “Besides, you’ve been getting plenty of action.”  
  
“It’s not the same.” Sam was firm.  
  
“I think it is.”  
  
Dean pushed his chair back and stood up. Sam had to move to the left to avoid getting hit. Before his brother could walk away, Sam grabbed his hand. “Let me show you,” he said, standing up as well.  
  
Dean gave no sign of encouragement, but neither did he try to break free from Sam’s grip. This was the moment. Sam wouldn’t mess it up. He held Dean’s left hand in his, placing his other hand on Dean’s waist. He leaned over him, inhaling his brother’s scent. It was familiar, and his mind knew that it should’ve triggered something in him, some shared memory, some emotional response but it didn’t. It didn’t matter. That’s not what this was about. He kissed Dean, pressing his lips softly against his brother’s. It was a gentle kiss, the chastest kiss he could possibly manage. He needed his brother to respond. Dean was so still. He let Sam kiss him. He felt the pressure of his brother’s lips on his and closed his eyes. Maybe he could pretend, pretend that Sam meant it. But Sam didn’t mean it and Dean was reminded of that the moment his brother pulled away.  
  
“Nice try.”  
  
“Nice try?” Sam repeated, feigning confusion.  
  
“Yeah,” Dean said, stepping back this time. “Nice try.”  
  
“I don’t get you, Dean,” Sam replied. “What’s the big deal? I keep telling you it’s still me.”  
  
Dean appraised him. “What did that kiss mean to you?” he asked after a moment.  
  
Sam looked blank. “It was a kiss,” he answered. “A nice one.”  
  
Dean shook his head. “Exactly.” He sighed. “The thing is, Sammy, it’s never just a kiss. Just like it’s never just about the sex either.”  
  
“Why?” Sam’s voice had that clinical metallic edge again. “You’ve had so much meaningless sex in your life.”  
  
“Not with you,” Dean replied, searching his brother’s eyes for some acknowledgement, some kind of recognition that wasn’t there. “Never with you.” He needed another drink. Badly. Sam was still so near, his body language silently aggressive. Dean was actually wary. He didn’t know what Sam was capable of anymore. “It’s like your blind,” he went on, “like you can’t see what’s important.”  
  
“You’re important. **We’re** important.”  
  
“You say that because you know you should. You don’t mean it.”  
  
“I **mean** it,” Sam said, his voice low and lethal.  
  
“Then you don’t **feel** it!” Dean snapped. “You’re like . . . you’re like Data. You work on pure logic, no emotion. But you know what the difference between you and Data is? Data wanted to be human. He wanted to know what it was like to feel. You?” Dean stopped himself. He didn’t want to say it, didn’t want it to be true.  
  
“You don’t think I’m human,” Sam finished for him.  
  
There was nothing more to say.  
  


  
* * * * *

Dean had gone for a drive after that showdown with his brother. He’d lost track of time. Weirdly, he felt like he’d **lost** time somehow but he shook it off. Much stranger things had happened than **imagining** he’d lost time somehow. It was dark when he got back to the motel. He didn’t expect Sam to be there and was slightly relieved. He’d deal with the fallout in the morning. Not that he expected much reaction from Sam in the morning anyway, but there was only so much **he** could handle.

Dean opened the door to their room and was roughly pulled inside. He heard the door slamming, even as his hands were being bound behind him. He lashed out with his leg, firmly striking his assailant. There was a hiss of pain and the grip on his hands was temporarily loosened, enough for Dean to turn around and ram the stranger with his shoulder into the wall. He freed his wrists, but not before the stranger managed to hit him square in the jaw. He fell backwards with the force, knocking over one of the motel chairs. There was a scramble on the floor and then the stranger was on top of him. One hand was around his neck, cutting off his airway, the other was ripping off his shirt. **What the fuck?** his mind screamed. Dean repeatedly struck the arm that was choking him, but it was as firm as a rock. His attacker was too far away for him to grasp his neck, so he did the next best thing. He swung his legs forward, locking his ankles around the other man’s neck and squeezed. The action gave him leverage and he was able to push the person away. He had him head-locked and through sheer force, Dean managed to pull the man to the ground. Now their positions were reversed and Dean began hitting the stranger in the face. One punch. Two. Three. His hands were around the other man’s neck and he was squeezing the life out of him.

“Dean,” came a strangled sound and Dean stopped.

“Sam? What the fuck?” Dean released his grip and heard a deep intake of breath. “What the hell are you doing?”

Now that his senses were no longer on overdrive, Dean could see his brother’s face from the light that entered through the motel window. This had to be a record. He’d beaten up his brother twice in three days. It was probably a miracle that he hadn’t killed him yet.

“I’m getting you in the mood,” Sam replied.

Before Dean could figure out what that meant, Sam pulled him to the floor and crushed their mouths together. This was as far as possible from the chaste, gentle kiss that Sam had bestowed on him that afternoon. This was a mash of teeth and tongue, of the metallic taste of iron and blood. It was too easy to allow the adrenaline of the fight to slip into the adrenaline of arousal. Both brothers were still in fight-or-flight mode and that quickly translated into fight-or-fuck in Winchester speak. Dean knew that Sam had tricked him into this, that it was probably his brother’s cleverest ploy yet. He hated him for it, just as much as he hated himself for being so easily manipulated. That hate manifested itself in the way Dean tore at Sam’s clothes just as fiercely as Sam was tearing into his. He wanted to hurt Sam so bad, even as he knew that Sam would enjoy the pain. The more extreme the physical sensation, the more pleasure Sam derived from it. That is what his brother’s life had been reduced to, a hunger for the physical acts of pleasure and pain, and Dean wouldn’t even share that with him.

They were both naked now, Sam’s fingernails digging into Dean’s back. Dean was spreading him, hooking one leg over his right shoulder. He had no lube, no protection, he hadn’t even bothered to spit into his palm. He was going to dry-fuck his brother until Sam bled, until Sam wouldn’t be able to sit or walk or even move the following day without remembering what Dean had done to him. At least, that’s what Dean thought he was going to do until he looked into Sam’s eyes and saw a stranger staring back at him, a stranger whose eyes gleamed with exhilaration in the moonlight. This was so wrong. On so many levels. Dean hesitated and Sam knew he was losing his brother.

“Dean!”

“I can’t do this.”

“You can’t stop now!”

Dean was sitting up, about to slip Sam’s leg off his shoulder.

“Dean!” Sam yelled again. He was on the verge of hitting his brother but Dean anticipated his actions and pinned him to the ground.

“This isn’t right,” Dean said. “I’m sorry.”

He got up this time, missing the flash of anger that crossed Sam’s features as his brother sat up. Dean felt unbelievably tired, not so much from the physical effort of fighting and then almost fucking his brother, but from the emotional drain of the struggle. Everything with Sam was a battle of wills. How much longer could he resist when his brother was relentless?

Dean headed for the bathroom and shut the door. He leaned over the sink and stared at his reflection in the mirror. He looked like shit. He let the water run but before he could splash some water on his face the bathroom door was kicked open.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Dean yelled, backing away from the sink as his brother stormed into the small room. In a single movement, Sam had shoved him onto the closed cover of the toilet seat. Dean was prepared to defend himself but Sam wasn’t interested in fighting anymore. He had a different objective. He knelt down and spread his brother’s legs. Dean was still hard like Sam knew he would be. Before Dean could stop him, he bent quickly and took his brother’s cock in his mouth. Just like all of Sam’s experiences since he came back from the cage, the action was familiar as was the emptiness that followed it. All he could fall back on was physical sensation, the knowledge that he could pleasure his brother and consequently pleasure himself. This was what he could share with Dean.

Dean gripped Sam’s hair in his hands. He meant to pull his brother off him. He really did. But Sam had always been so good at this and his brother hadn’t touched him in so long. He tried to remind himself that this wasn’t Sam, not his Sam, but all he succeeded in doing was shutting his eyes and letting his head fall back as he canted his hips into his brother’s welcoming mouth. Sam was gripping Dean’s thighs as he sucked Dean off. He felt the tension in his brother’s legs, the stiffening of Dean’s body before he jerked and came. Sam had him so deep he should’ve gagged, but he drank his brother down before he sitting on the floor and leaning against the cool bathroom tile. His own cock was still throbbing but he ignored it for the moment, fixing his gaze on Dean.

Dean was spent, but his weakness stemmed from more than the force of his own orgasm. When he opened his eyes, his head was resting on the tank behind him and he was looking at the hideous blue and green floral pattern of the bathroom ceiling. He could feel his brother’s gaze on him. Neither of them spoke.

“Do you hate me?” Sam asked after a few minutes had passed. His voice was once again cool and detached.

Dean kept his eyes on the ceiling. It was easier to lie when someone couldn’t see your face. He had planned on lying, but instead he replied, “Right now, I do.”

 

**Fin.**


End file.
